


Three Men and a Sick Freddie

by DonnieTheFu



Series: Little Freddie [3]
Category: Queen (Band)
Genre: Comedy, Doctors & Physicians, Embarrassment, Fever, Freddie is sick, Friendship, Gen, Headaches & Migraines, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Male Friendship, Medical, Medical Examination, Medication, Medicine, Nausea, Needles, Platonic Cuddling, Sick Character, Sick Freddie, Sickfic, Suppositories, Suppository, Temperature, Temperature-Taking, Vomiting, anal fingering (sort of), injection, sick, suppository insertion, thermometer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-20
Updated: 2020-05-20
Packaged: 2020-11-15 01:35:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20858045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DonnieTheFu/pseuds/DonnieTheFu
Summary: Freddie gets sick and doesn't want to take his medicine. It's up to Brian, Roger, and John to see that he does.





	1. Fever

**Author's Note:**

> *Please read all the tags first - I don't want anybody to be squicked out/be triggered/cringe/die of second-hand embarrassment*
> 
> I would really appreciate no criticism (constructive or otherwise), or negativity in the comments section, please. This is just my hobby that I do for fun. Thank you! :)
> 
> Copyright © May 20, 2020 DonnieTheFu All Rights Reserved
> 
> ***DISCLAIMER: This is a work of fiction. Any semblance between original characters and real persons, living or dead, is coincidental. The author in no way represents the companies, corporations, or brands mentioned in this work. The likeness of historical/famous figures have been used fictitiously; the author does not speak for or represent these people. All opinions expressed in this work are the author’s, or fictional.***

**September 1982 - Freddie's New York Flat**

Freddie groaned as he lifted his head from the toilet. Then just as suddenly, another wave of nausea hit him.

_Oh God please let it stop, _he prayed to the deity of the porcelain throne. He didn't understand how he could still feel so sick when there was nothing left in his stomach for him to bring up. Not even bile. His arms visibly trembled as he supported himself over the bowl. He shivered, his teeth chattering. It felt like the damn Antarctic in here. He was surprised there weren't penguins, and walruses, and polar bears frolicking merrily about. And his whole body ached like he'd been run over by all the cars during traffic hour at Piccadilly Circus. He was so exhausted he felt like he could have a nice lie down right here on the bathroom floor.

Brian, who'd just arrived along with Roger and John at the insistence of Phoebe, took one look at his friend's glassy eyes and pale drawn face and knew they needed to act quickly. Freddie was a very sick young man.

"Freddie, what's your temperature?" he asked.

"Dunno," Freddie managed to mumble in reply.

"You haven't even measured your temperature?!" Brian almost shouted. "Phoebe bring me the thermometer!"

"There's not one. I don't keep one in the flat. I've haven't needed one until now," Freddie told him.

"Well then I'd say right now would be a great occasion to buy one. Come on. Up you get." Brian and the others helped Freddie up, putting his arms around their shoulders and helped him back to bed. Then he sent Phoebe to the nearest pharmacy to fetch a thermometer.

"Alright, Freddie, under your tongue," Brian said after Phoebe had returned with the thermometer.

"Brian, please, just leave me alone, ok? I'll be fine. I don't even know why Phoebe bothered to call. I just need to rest," Freddie said, turning over on his side away from Brian.

"Phoebe called because he's very worried about you. As are we," Brian told him. "Now turn around here and let me take your temperature." But Freddie stayed put the way he was. Brian yanked the covers off causing Freddie to instantly curl up into a shivering ball.

"Freddie, there are other places for me to stick this thermometer besides your mouth, and I don't mean in your armpit," Brian told him.

"That's not really much of a threat though is it, Brian?" Roger cut in. "I think Freddie might enjoy that just a little bit too much," he said jokingly.

"Oh, fuck off, Roger," Freddie said as Roger laughed. "I don't want a long, cold piece of metal and glass stuffed up my arsehole any more than you do, if that is indeed what you're implying, darling."

"Well then open up," Brian said, taking advantage of that exact moment to pop the thermometer into Freddie's open mouth. They waited while Brian watched the wall clock, making sure enough time had passed.

Brian gasped when he took the thermometer out and saw the reading.

"40°C! We've got to get you to the doctor's straightway," Brian told Freddie.

"Oh no, Brian! I hate going to the doctor's. Always forcing their strange instruments down my throat," Freddie said putting a hand to his throat. "No! No way! I'm not going and you can't make me!" And he buried himself beneath the covers. Apparently, Freddie reverted to a cranky three-year-old when he was sick. But Brian had practice dealing with his own children.

"Freddie," Brian said his name warningly, putting his hands on his hips. But Freddie didn't emerge. "One...Two..." He came over and lifted up a corner of the covers to peer at Freddie. "Don't make me say three, Freddie."

"Oh, alright, fine! You win!" Freddie said sitting up and throwing the covers off.


	2. Injection

Luckily Phoebe called and was able to arrange for Freddie to see one of the doctors on New York’s Fifth Avenue right away. When they arrived they hustled Freddie through the back door and straight into an examination room before he and the others could be recognized and mobbed by their adoring fans.

They waited for what seemed like forever, until finally the doctor came in. He was an older man in his 60's; large and portly, with white hair, glasses perched on the end of his nose, and fat little fingers like overstuffed sausages. Freddie didn’t like the look of him already.

“Hello, Mr. Uh…Mercury,” he pronounced uncertainly, consulting one of the papers on the clipboard in his hand. “What seems to be the trouble?”

“Oh, nothing, dear. I’m perfectly fine. Not even sure why I came in really,” Freddie quipped in reply. Brain shot Freddie a look.

“Actually, doctor, Freddie’s been having these terrible migraines. He’s got a fever, nausea, vomiting. He can’t even keep a sip of water down,” Brian told him.

“Yes, yes. A fever of 104°F (40°C),” the doctor said, looking at the vitals the nurse had jotted down. “And you are…”

“Oh, I’m Brian May. This is John Deacon. And Roger Taylor,” he said indicating the others. “We’re Freddie’s band mates. Maybe you’ve heard of us. We’re in a rock n’ roll band called Queen.” The doctor just raised his eyebrows and looked down at his papers. _The things kids were naming their bands these days. _“No, I’m sorry to say I haven’t. Anyway, let’s have a look, shall we?” Freddie allowed the doctor to look in his eyes, ears, and nose. But then the doctor came at him with a large tongue depressor.

“Say, Ahhh, Freddie,” the doctor told him. But Freddie kept his lips clamped tight shut. Roger and John did their best to hide snorts of laughter. Brian gave them a withering glance and then reached over and gave Freddie’s knee a gentle squeeze.

“Freddie,” he said, a tone of warning in his voice. The doctor looked back and forth between the two of them, trying to figure out this strange dynamic. But Freddie opened his mouth and stuck out his tongue, allowing the doctor to examine his throat.

“Yes, throat’s a little red too,” the doctor said. “It’s probably just a bug going around, but we’ll do some blood work just to be sure.”

After the results of the blood tests were ready, the doctor came back into the room.

“Well it looks like I was right, Mr. Mercury. Just a bug. Although I will say, you are very ill. I’ll send you home with a prescription. It’s very important that you take the medication as directed. Get plenty of fluids and rest. Otherwise you’re going to end up in the hospital for IV fluids, and surely you don’t want that.” Just then there was a knock at the door and a nurse came in carrying a metal tray with the largest needle and syringe Freddie had ever seen in his entire life. “Not to worry, though. We’ll get you fixed right up.” Freddie swallowed hard, watching as the doctor inserted the needle into the vial and drew up the medication into the syringe. He tapped the side of the syringe and depressed the plunger slightly until a little of the liquid shot up into the air.

“Alright, Mr. Mercury. Drop your drawers and bend over.” Freddie was horrified. Brian gave a gentle cough.

“We’ll just be right outside. Ok, Freddie?” Each of the boys laid a hand on Freddie’s shoulder as they filed past. John shut the door closed behind him. The doctor looked at Freddie expectantly.

So with slow robotic movements, he stood up and unbuttoned his jeans. He eased his trousers and knickers down to his thighs and then bent over, hands on the examination table and his head hanging down slightly. He tensed, when he felt the doctor swipe a cotton ball soaked in alcohol over the top part of his left glute, close to his hip.

“Just relax,” the doctor told him. _Relax?_ Freddie thought. _How the hell was he possibly supposed to relax under these conditions? _Then he hissed, grimacing in pain as the doctor drove the needle home and injected the stinging medication into the muscle.

“Damn!” he cursed, gripping the edge of the examination table and crinkling up the paper in his grasp. As soon as he felt the doctor remove the needle, Freddie immediately made to pull up his knickers and trousers, but the doctor stopped him.

“Wait just a moment, Mr. Mercury,” the doctor said, snapping on his gloves behind him. “I’m afraid we’re not quite finished yet.”

_Oh fuck._


	3. Prescription

Freddie emerged sheepishly from the examination room. He felt completely violated. The doctor had, without ceremony, shoved a suppository what felt like the size of a juggernaut lorry, straight up his arse. Then prescribed him more of the same. Two different kinds in fact – one for nausea to be taken every 8 hours and one for fever to be taken every 4 hours. _Bastard. _

“Can’t, can’t you just prescribe me something to take by mouth, you know, o-orally?” Freddie asked. He had pulled up his knickers and trousers, but he kept his back to the doctor, still hanging his head and leaning on his hands on the examination table, and breathed slowly in and out, willing away the slight involuntary erection he’d gotten when the doctor’s finger had brushed up against his prostate while inserting the suppository. He most certainly hadn’t enjoyed it.

“Not while you’re vomiting like that, Mr. Mercury,” the doctor had told him. “Once the vomiting resolves, then you can switch back to oral medications.”

“And-And how long do these things tend to last, generally?”

“Oh, you should start feeling better anywhere between 24 to 72 hours from now.” Freddie was already doing the math in his head. _God he hoped it would be sooner than that._

Freddie found Brian, Roger, and John waiting for him at the check-out counter. He folded up the prescription as small as he could get it and shoved it deep into the pocket of his trousers.

“How’d it go, Freddie?” Brian asked, his voice full of concern.

“Oh it was wonderful, Brian! Just wonderful! I did so love having that huge needle stuck right in my sweet-” Freddie looked down at that moment to see that a little boy with a lollipop had somehow wandered over and was standing nearby.

“-arm,” he finished. “In fact it was so much fun, I think I’d like to do it again.” The little boy’s mother came in and scooped him up.

“Sorry,” she apologized, and there was a look of recognition in her eyes. She hesitated a moment as if she wanted to say something, then walked away slowly, looking back over her shoulder.

“We could get you a lollipop too. And maybe a Cinderella sticker. Would that make you feel better?” John asked, trying to keep a straight face.

“Oh, you and Roger think this is all so funny, don’t you? Just wait until the two of you get sick, and see what tricks I’ve got up my sleeve for you then!”

“What about the prescription, Freddie?” Brian asked.

“What prescription, darling?” Freddie asked feigning ignorance.

“You know, the doctor said he was going to send you home with a prescription,” Brian said. Roger and John both agreed that that’s what they’d heard as well.

“Well the three of you must be hearing things. I don't have the slightest idea what you’re talking about. The doctor never said anything about any prescription. He just said to drink plenty of fluids and get lots of rest, which is what I had already been planning to do back at the flat before you all dragged me all the way down here. A complete waste of time coming all the way down here, just for him to tell me that, I tell ya.”

“Actually, Mr. Mercury-” the receptionist at the check-out counter cut in. “The doctor did write you a prescription. It looks like it was for some-” Freddie drew a finger across his neck telling her to nix it. Then he leant over the desk towards her, really turning on the charm.

“I’m sorry, what was that, darling? You want an autograph?” he reached for the nearest pen and prescription pad and began scribbling his name, adding hearts and roses for good measure. “Anything for my best fan.” Then he reached into his pocket and quietly slid a $100 bill into her hand, completely willing to pay for her silence. He held a finger to his lips and gave her a wink and a devilish smile. “What did you say your name was, honey?”

“Trish.” She smiled back, twisting her short blonde hair around her finger.

“Still, I think I’d feel better if we had another quick word with the doctor, just to make sure we’re not missing anything,” Brian said.

“No, Brian, don’t be ridiculous,” Freddie told him. “Besides, did you see the way that little boy’s mother was looking at us earlier? We’ve been spotted. We’ve got to get out of here now before we’re overrun.” As they were walking out, Freddie took the folded up prescription from his pocket and tossed it casually at the waste basket. But he missed. It hit the rim and skittered out into the middle of the floor.

“Sorry, Mr. Mercury-” the receptionist called after him. They all stopped and turned around. “I think you dropped something,” she said, pointing to the piece of paper lying in the floor. Brian came over and scooped it up before Freddie could stop him.

“What’s this?” he asked in mock surprise, unfolding the piece of paper.

“Brian, please,” Freddie begged, trying desperately to snatch the paper from Brian’s hand. But Brian swatted him away, keeping it out of his reach.

“Looks like it’s a prescription for Mr. Freddie Mercury,” he said. “And it’s for…” _Oh. Oh dear. _In big bold letters right across the middle of the prescription the doctor had written the words **RECTAL SUPPOSITORIES**. No mistaking it. Underneath was the usual unreadable doctor’s scrawl, a hand they all seemingly learned in medical school, presumably detailing the names of the medications, the dosages, and how often each of them were to be taken. Freddie’s face was redder than a fire engine. Roger and John sidled up on each side of Brian, to have a look at the prescription as well.

“Ugh,” Roger groaned sympathetically, reading the prescription. “Bum medicine.”


	4. Pharmacy

On the ride home, Freddie sat in the backseat of the car with his sunglasses on and his arms crossed over his chest, grumpy and sulking. Roger and John had given up teasing him now. Actually Roger had been just about to make one last joke – knowing well the big, burly, lorry-driving types Freddie invited into his bed, he’d almost said, “Oh, come on now, Freddie. Surely, you’ve had much larger things in and out your bum than that.” But seeing how miserable Freddie looked, he’d decided against it. He supposed it was all in the context, really. Sex was sex. And having medication shoved up your bum was having medication shoved up your bum. So instead, he and John had tried everything they could possibly think of to cheer him up. They’d even made a weak attempt at making the suppositories sound like fun. _Yeah! Woo-hoo! Alright! Suppositories! _But it hadn’t worked really; they hadn’t even managed to make Freddie crack a smile.

Freddie was too focused on Brian to pay attention to their antics. First he’d whined, then begged, then pleaded. And now he was pouting. But nothing he did would change Brian’s mind. Brian felt badly for him, he really did, and he was sorry that Freddie was having to go through this. But just taking one look at Freddie he could tell that Freddie felt terrible. And that made him even more steadfast in his decision. Freddie needed this medication. He had to have it. Otherwise he’d get dehydration and end up in the hospital. Or worse. And Brian couldn’t just stand by and let that happen.

“Pull over here, please,” Brian had said to the driver as they approached the pharmacy.

“No, don’t pull over! Keep driving!” Freddie ordered the driver. Nothing else had worked, so he thought he’d give anger a try. Freddie’d found that throwing a temper tantrum often got him his way. Most people were intimidated by it. “Look, Brian. I’ll send Phoebe out to get the prescription filled later, ok? Right now I just want to go home and lie down and have a rest. I’m completely knackered.” The driver looked over his shoulder at the both of them, confused as to what he should do. _Who was in charge here?_

“Stop it, Freddie. That’s enough. Now I understand you don’t want to do this, as you’ve already made quite clear all the way over here, but we are stopping right here, right now, and getting your prescription filled. And I don’t want to hear another word about it, understand?” Brian said as sternly as possible, almost raising his voice to a shout. It was deathly silent in the car after that. Not so much as a peep from Roger or John either. The driver promptly whipped around in his seat, facing forward, eyes front. Whatever the hell was going on back there amongst the four of them, he wanted no part of it.

“Pull over here, please,” Brian repeated, smiling politely at the driver in his rear view mirror. The driver immediately put on the brakes and pulled into the nearest parking space. Nobody was going to have to tell him twice. Brian got out of the car and closed the door.

“I’ll be just a minute,” he said sweetly to the driver.

“Take your time, darling,” Freddie shouted after him, after he’d gone into the pharmacy. _Take your time._ Freddie watched through the glass storefront window as Brian talked to the pharmacist, listening intently and nodding his head. He emerged in short order carrying two brown paper bags.

“What happened, Brian,” Freddie asked a bit nervously as Brian got back into the car. “They wouldn’t all fit into one bag?”

“No, Freddie. Your medicine is in this bag,” Brian said holding up the smaller of the two bags. _Thank God._ “But I also bought you an electrolyte replacement drink. It’s orange flavored, I hope you don’t mind.”

“Not at all, darling,” Freddie said, taking the other bag from Brian with a smile. Brian guessed he was trying to make up for his outburst earlier. “I’m really thirsty,” he said, which Brian took as a good sign. Maybe whatever had been in that injection the doctor had given Freddie, was starting to work its magic. Freddie screwed off the cap and took a big gulp. It tasted like salty piss. “Mmm, it’s delicious,” he said for Brian’s benefit, taking another big gulp. Freddie tried to take the other bag from Brian as well, but Brian wouldn’t let him, afraid Freddie would toss it right out the window.

“I just wanted to see what they look like and uh…how big they are,” Freddie said with a gulp. The medicine was a lot more intimidating now that it had actually materialized instead of just being written down on paper.

“I’ll let you see when we get back to the flat,” Brian said.

*******

As soon as they were back at the flat, Freddie had to complain to Phoebe about everything. About the doctor – _Putting his sticky, weird fingers all over me!_ And the blood draw – _They took vials and vials. I thought I was going to be exsanguinated!_ And the injection – _It was the size of a DC-10!_

Finally, they’d got him stripped down to just his boxer shorts, and then laid down on the sofa with the softest, fluffiest pillow and the warmest, comfiest blanket.

“It’s time for your medication now, Freddie,” Brian informed him gently.

“No! No, Brian!” Freddie interjected at once. “The doctor already gave me one back at the surgery.” Brian wouldn’t have believed him except for the deep blush that was spreading over Freddie’s face and neck.

“For fever or for nausea?” Brian asked.

“The injection was for nausea. And the…the…” Freddie couldn’t even bring himself to say the word. “The _other_ was for fever, I think.”

‘Oh. Ok,” Brian said. “Well let’s see. That would have been about noon,” he said looking at the clock. “And the pharmacist said you’re to take the ones for nausea every eight hours, and the ones for fever every four hours. So that means you’re due for another one around 4 o’clock.”

“And…and what time is it now?” Freddie asked anxiously.

“It’s just getting on to be a little after 1 o’clock now, Freddie,” Brian said. “So you should be good for about another three hours or so.” Freddie breathed a sigh of relief, glad that the inevitable was to be delayed, at least for a short while.

Brian sank down into the armchair next to the sofa. And Roger and John sat at the end of the sofa by Freddie’s feet. It seemed everybody was knackered, not just Freddie.

Then in a tiny, meek voice Freddie said, “Um…I-I think I might like something to eat now.”

“Really?” Brian asked sitting up in his chair. “Well, that’s great! What would you like?”

“How about some cheese on toast and a glass of milk,” John suggested dreamily.

“Um, thanks, John, but I don’t think dairy would be the best thing for Freddie's stomach right now with his fever,” Brian said. But Freddie was having trouble making up his mind. It was hard to know what you wanted to eat when you weren’t feeling that great.

“I know just the thing,” Phoebe said, who often knew what Freddie wanted, even when Freddie himself didn’t know. He disappeared into the kitchen and then returned shortly with a plate of scrambled eggs, fried rice, fresh fruit salad, a glass of pineapple juice mixed with mango juice, and a cup of Earl Grey tea with milk. Freddie sat up on the sofa, wrapped in the blanket, and ate with gusto. He was hungry.

“Shall we put something on the telly, Freddie?” Roger asked walking over to turn on the television. It just so happened Freddie’s favorite television show COUNTDOWN was on, so they decided to watch that for a little while. Then Freddie began to feel very sleepy. He laid his head back down on the pillow, but every time he’d drift off to sleep, he’d start right back up again, staring at the clock, watching as the seconds ticked ever closer to that dreaded hour of 4 o’clock. The hour of his doom. 2:00. 2:15. 2:30. 2:45. At around 3 o’clock, the medication he’d been given at the surgery slowly began to wear off. Though he tried to hide it, Brian could tell Freddie was beginning to feel ill again. He could see from Freddie’s glassy eyes, flushed cheeks, and the way he was beginning to shiver beneath the blanket, that his fever was up. 3:15. 3:30. 3:45.

Freddie and Brian were both looking at the clock when the time read 4:00. They both looked at each other then and before Brian could say anything, Freddie began arguing better than the best lawyers in all of England, laying out his case as to why he didn’t need his bottom administered to. After the closing arguments, the jury (Brian) had not been swayed, and the judge (also Brian) did not rule the case in Freddie’s favor. He got up and headed to the kitchen to retrieve Freddie’s medication.

“Wait! Wait! Brian!” Freddie cried. Brian stopped and turned around to look at him. “Can’t…can’t you measure my temperature again? Just…just to be sure?”

Brian sighed. “Alright Freddie but if it's 38°C or above, you’ll have to have the medication, alright?” Freddie nodded his agreement. They both knew there was no way Freddie’s temperature would be below 38°C, but Freddie was desperate, and he looked so pitiful that Brian couldn’t deny him his request. So Brian went and fetched the thermometer. Freddie opened his mouth right away and let Brian put the thermometer under his tongue. After enough time had passed Brian took out the thermometer and held it up to the light to read it. Everyone waited on baited breath.

“39.4°C,” Brian said. “I’m really sorry, but you’ll have to have the medication, Freddie.” Freddie was crestfallen.

“Roger. John. Could you give us a little privacy, please?” Brian asked. “Just for a few minutes.”

“Of course,” Roger said. He put his hand on Freddie’s shoulder as he passed by. “Sorry, mate.” John touched his shoulder as well. “Sorry.”

And then Brian and Freddie were alone.


	5. Under Pressure

Brian went into the kitchen and retrieved one of the dreaded suppositories from the refrigerator, where the pharmacist had told him they must be kept stored in order to prevent them from melting. He came back to the sofa and placed it in Freddie's hand.

"Try and use the bathroom first, Freddie. You know - have a bowel movement. So your uh...your _rectum-_" Brian said, using the scientific term, and Freddie thought he could go the whole rest of his life without hearing Brian say that word again, "-will be empty. Then wash your hands with soap and water. Take the wrapper off. And then you just...push it in as far as you can." Freddie looked down at the package in his hand, and then he looked up pleadingly at Brian.

"Brian..."

"I'm sorry, Freddie. It can't be helped," he said sympathetically. Freddie looked down once more at the object in his hand. Then he blew out his breath, stood up, and walked slowly, dejectedly to the bathroom. He turned around to face Brian as he shut and locked the door. He placed the little foil wrapped object on the bathroom counter. _Try and have a bowel movement first, so your rectum will be empty_, Brian had said. No fucking need for that. Freddie was already scared shitless - literally. He put the lid down on the toilet and sat down with his head in his hands. His heart was beating so fast in his chest and he was breaking out in a cold sweat. How could such a tiny object strike such fear in his heart? Freddie jumped, startled by a sudden gentle knock on the door. "Freddie, are you ok in there? Do you-do you need some help?"

"God no, Brian! I'm-I'm fine. Just, just give me a minute, huh?" Freddie got up and stood in front of the bathroom mirror. _Alright, Freddie. Just do it. _He told himself. _Just take the wrapper off the fucking thing and shove it up your arse. It's not that hard. Then you can go and have a nice lie down. _But he just couldn't do it. He leant on his hands on the bathroom counter, hanging his head. _Alright if he wasn't going to do it, then he needed to get rid of the fucking thing._ Later, he didn't know why he hadn't flushed it down the toilet, but the idea simply hadn't occurred to him at the time. What with being sick, his brain wasn't firing on all cylinders. Instead, he wrapped the thing up in toilet paper, _like girls did with their tampons_, he laughed to himself. Then he shoved it down to the bottom of the waste basket. And for good measure, added a couple of more wads of toilet tissue on top. There. Done.

He came back out of the bathroom walking slowly and then fell down on his stomach on the sofa. Brian came over and patted him on the back. "Well done, Freddie. Well done." Roger and John returned and they all sat there watching TV some more. Brian watched Freddie closely for signs of improvement, but after an hour Freddie wasn't any better, in fact if anything he was worse. Out of the corner of his eye, Brian saw Freddie shivering and his teeth chattering. But when he looked over, Freddie forced himself to stop. He stood up and came over casually. Freddie tried to dodge his touch, but Brian laid his hand on Freddie's forehead.

"God, Freddie, you're burning up!" he exclaimed. "I don't understand why the medication isn't working." But he was beginning to have a sneaking suspicion.

"Freddie, are you sure you took the medication?" he asked gently, trying to give Freddie a chance to be honest.

"Of course I did, darling. Don't be ridiculous. I did exactly as you told me. I just went in there and shoved it right on up." Roger and John couldn't help but snicker. Sometimes Freddie was hilarious.

"Mmm," Brian said. He began walking slowly towards the bathroom.

"Hey, uh, where are you going, Brian?" Freddie asked, the paranoia obvious in his voice.

"Just to the loo. Is that alright?" he asked.

"Yeah, yeah. Sure. That's fine," Freddie said with feigned indifference, turning back towards the television. Brian shut the bathroom door closed behind him. _What had Freddie done with it? _First he looked in the waste basket to see if he could see an empty wrapper, possibly indicating Freddie had indeed taken the medication or at least unwrapped it, but there was none. So he thought Freddie must have flushed it down the toilet, wrapper and all. But then his eyes were drawn back to the waste basket. _Hold on. Why was there so much toilet tissue in the waste basket? _It certainly hadn't been that way earlier when Brian had been in here. It had been almost empty. Now though there was a great mound, made up of wads of pristine toilet tissue, practically overflowing (Freddie had obviously overdone it a little). It was almost as if _someone_ were purposely trying to hide something in there. With two fingers, Brian carefully shook out the wads of toilet tissue until bingo! The little silver wrapped object of Freddie's nightmares fell right out into plain sight. Brian came back into the sitting room.

“Freddie, what’s this?” he asked calmly, holding out his palm for Freddie to see what he held there. _Oh shit._

"Brian, I can explain-" Freddie stammered.

"Alright, let's hear it then,” Brian said.

But Freddie just sat there opening and closing his mouth like a fish out of water.

“Alright, Freddie. I gave you your chance. Now roll over,” Brian told him.

“No! No, Brian! I won’t let you!” Freddie tried to get away, but there was nowhere for him to escape to. They had him cornered. So he sat up on the back of the sofa with his back pressed up against the wall.

“Freddie, we can either do this the easy way, or the hard way. Now which will it be?” Brian asked him, hands on hips. Freddie didn’t answer but pulled his legs up to his chest and wrapped his arms around them. Brian sighed.

“Grab him,” he told Roger and John. So Roger took his hands, and John his feet and somehow they managed to get him back down on the sofa again and laid on his side, despite Freddie fighting and struggling like a mad dog.

“Oh! Phoebe! Help me! Help!” Freddie cried. Phoebe came in from the kitchen, wiping his hands on a dish towel, to see what was going on.

“Stay there!” Brian told him authoritatively, pointing his finger at him. Freddie felt a cool breeze as Brian whipped down his boxer shorts.

“Brian, don’t! You can’t do this to me! You can’t-” Too late. Freddie groaned as Brian inserted the medication. But something must have gone wrong. Not wanting to hurt Freddie, Brian must have not put it in far enough. Because as soon as Brian was finished, Freddie got this terrible urge. He needed the loo. Now. He tried to get up but the others wouldn’t let him.

“Brian, you don’t understand! I’ve got to go right now!” Freddie shouted.

“You can’t go right now, Freddie. You’ve got to try and hold it in. If it comes out now, you’ll just have to have another,” Brian told him, rubbing his back. Freddie just moaned, breathing heavily.

“Listen, Freddie. Just…just squeeze your bum cheeks together. That’ll help. And the feeling should go away in a few minutes, alright?” Freddie clamped his bum cheeks together so tightly that Brian swore he could have cracked nuts. He’d be shitting diamonds for days. _Under pressure indeed. _After about fifteen minutes, the uncomfortable feeling slowly began to fade and the others saw Freddie’s body physically relax, so they let go of him. But Freddie wasn’t right. He was shaking like a leaf. Roger sat at one end of the sofa and put Freddie’s head in his lap, playing with his hair. And John sat at the other end with Freddie’s feet in his lap, and rubbed his calves. But Freddie seemed to be in a sort of catatonic state, staring straight at the wall ahead. Like a soldier who’s seen too much war. Brian came and snapped his fingers in front of Freddie’s face, but he didn’t even blink. Just as Brian was becoming quite worried that he’d traumatized poor Freddie for life, Freddie spoke in a monotonous voice:

“Phoebe – you’re fired.” And then he said, “Brian, if I haven’t gotten sick again by 8:00, can we please not do that again?” Brian agreed. Freddie slept heavily for the next two hours, even snoring as the light from the TV flickered over his face. When he woke up the others were in the kitchen eating, except for Roger who had traded places with John and was now at Freddie’s feet.

“Hey, mate!” he said as Freddie opened his eyes. “How’re you feeling?”

“I’m fine,” Freddie said. But he wasn’t fine. There was a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach that only continued to grow as the evening wore on. After a little while the others wandered back into the sitting room and sat down. The COUNTDOWN show had gone off now and there was a rugby match on. Freddie tried to concentrate on the game to keep his mind off the terrible bubbling feeling in his belly. He looked up at the clock. 7:50. Only 10 more minutes to go. He could do this. Perhaps it was like some people said – sickness was just a state of mind. Something you could think away. _I’m not going to be sick. I’m not going to be sick. I’m not going to be sick._ He thought to himself as the taste of bile rose up in the back of his throat. A retching noise, like the sound of a cat horking up a hairball, escaped from his mouth before he could stop himself.

“What was that?” Brian asked, looking around.

“Freddie, mate, are you ok?” Roger asked. But Freddie couldn’t speak. _I’m not going to be sick. I’m not going to be sick. I’m not going to be sick._ He was going to be sick. He jumped up, a fist held to his mouth, and raced for the toilet, barely making it in time. There went his supper. The others came in to check on him. If Freddie had still had his long hair, Roger would have held it back for him, but as such he just rubbed Freddie’s shoulder blades.

“It’s alright, mate. Just let it all out,” he said. After he was finished, Freddie walked slowly back into the sitting room. He looked up at the clock. 7:55. Defeated, Freddie laid down on his side on the sofa and eased his boxer shorts down. There was no fight left in him.

“Let’s just hurry up and get this over with, alright?” he said. This time was going to be particularly horrible because he had to have both – one for nausea and another one for fever. Brian went quickly to retrieve the medication.

“Listen, Freddie, maybe it would help this time if you just took slow, deep breaths and pictured something relaxing,” Roger told him. “Like little kittens frolicking in a field of flowers and chasing butterflies or something.” But Freddie preferred to imagine something a bit more violent. Like being up on stage and taking out an unsuspecting Brian with his mic stick. _Another one bites the dust._ And then Roger. _Another one bites the dust._ And then John. _And another one’s gone…_

Freddie tensed when he felt Brian touch his thigh. “Alright, Freddie. Here we go…” But this time turned out much better because Brian asked Freddie to help him and to tell him when he thought he’d gotten them in far enough, and there weren’t any of the nasty side effects from last time. After he’d lain quietly on the sofa for about fifteen minutes, just to be sure, the others helped him upstairs to his bed. He was asleep before his head even hit the pillow. The others made up beds for themselves downstairs. No way were they leaving their Freddie alone like this, not in his condition.

At around midnight, when it was time for Freddie to have some more medication, Brian came in to check on him. He was still sound asleep. His forehead felt much cooler now and his hair was damp with sweat so Brian knew that his fever had broken. Freddie was resting so peacefully that Brian couldn’t bear to disturb him. So he went quietly back downstairs and joined the others.

*******

A strange noise woke Freddie. He shielded his eyes from the bright morning sunshine streaming in through his bedroom window. _God, what time was it? _He looked over at the clock. 8:00. _Oh, fuck._ Brian would be in here any second to shove more medicine up his arse. But wait a minute. He didn't feel cold at all. In fact, he was burning up beneath all these covers. He threw them off and sat up on the edge of the bed. And he didn't feel the least bit nauseous either, he thought, surveying himself carefully. He was hungry. Starving really. And there was that weird noise again. _What was that? _He put his robe on and came out onto the second floor landing.

"Phoebe, darling, where are you? I feel as if I could eat an entire water buffalo, hooves and all, if you happen to have any on hand." As he came down the stairs and walked by the bathroom, the source of the noise became quite apparent. He could hear the distinct sounds of somebody vomiting in there. He went into the sitting room and there was Deacy sat on the sofa throwing up into one of the brown paper bags that had previously contained his medication from the pharmacy yesterday. Going a little further on and into the kitchen, there was Phoebe barfing in the kitchen sink. And Roger practically knocked Freddie to the floor in his hurry to get to the trash can to puke his guts up. So it must be Brian, then, who was in the bathroom.

Freddie put his hand on Roger's shoulder. "It's alright, Rog. Just let it all out." He went over and got a glass down out of the cabinet and set it on the counter. Then he sauntered over to the refrigerator and took out an unopened bottle of the orange flavored electrolyte replacement drink Brian had bought him yesterday. He filled the glass on the counter to the brim. _Oh, yes, let's pour Brian a big, tall, fucking glass of this shit. Don't want him to get dehydrated after all._ He put the bottle back into the refrigerator and then got out two of those dreadful little pills everybody had been so keen on shoving up his arsehole yesterday. He shut the refrigerator door and then with glass in hand, he made his way back into the sitting room and then towards the bathroom door.

"Oh, Brian, darling," he called out. And he couldn't help laughing to himself. "It's time for your medication."

**The End**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading and for all the kind comments, kudos, and support. It means a lot to me and I really appreciate it. I hope you've enjoyed it. :)

**Author's Note:**

> I would really appreciate no criticism (constructive or otherwise), or negativity in the comments section, please. This is just my hobby that I do for fun. Thank you! :)
> 
> Copyright © May 20, 2020 DonnieTheFu All Rights Reserved
> 
> ***DISCLAIMER: This is a work of fiction. Any semblance between original characters and real persons, living or dead, is coincidental. The author in no way represents the companies, corporations, or brands mentioned in this work. The likeness of historical/famous figures have been used fictitiously; the author does not speak for or represent these people. All opinions expressed in this work are the author’s, or fictional.***


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